


Whatever Happened in the Meantime

by crankyoldman



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankyoldman/pseuds/crankyoldman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some can only watch as others go headlong into the future. Shera and Reeve, past, present, and future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elixile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elixile/gifts).



**1999**

"I didn't expect to be one of the last survivors, you know."

Reeve had to wonder why they were the ones left alive. Midgar was nothing but smoking ruins, all his hard work and planning that went into it had nothing to show for. Though his conscience had taken over during the months with AVALANCHE he had secretly hoped that his beautiful city would come out unscathed.

"Well, you are a Turk, Veld. Rather akin to a cockroach."

Years before, even when he'd been promoted to Urban Planning he never would have dared to joke with Veld. The man had a reputation for being a humorless bastard, after all. But standing together in the ridiculous position of rescuers, his little Cait out looking for signs of life meant that they were at least on some sort of level footing at least.

And judging by the slight chuckle from Veld, he wasn't nearly as humorless as he had seemed in the past. Or maybe it had been all reputation and very little fact.

"Retired Turk. And I imagined that at least Hojo and Lucrecia would be around. They seemed to have such a talent for survival. All scientists do." There was an edge to his voice, like he wasn't really talking to Reeve.

"I wouldn't say that. Just because they don't tote around guns doesn't mean they aren't risking their lives with their research."

Cait bounced around, pointing and pointed at a particular spot in the rubble. Veld went ahead, ducking ducked under an exposed steel beam and crouched down to where the little cat had been pointing. When Reeve caught up with him he could see that he was checking the pulse of someone that was half under what used to be a bridge.

"There's a pulse. I'm going to keep her steady until the medics get here."

A green glow emanated from Veld's left hand, and spread to the person--a young girl, now that Reeve could fully see her--through their own hand. Her eyes didn't open, but she seemed to be breathing a little better.

Reeve nodded, wondering again why he'd volunteered for this job. Hell, he had to wonder why Veld had volunteered to go with him, instead of one of the younger Turks who respected him without question. Surely they could have found something less morbid to do, something more heroic.

But Reeve simply pulled out one of the flag markers so that the medics would be able to find the girl. It broke his heart a little at how few of them he'd used so far.

"Oh, and Reeve? You of all people would know that scientists rarely risk their _own_ lives."

It clicked then. Veld had wanted to come with him because Reeve had helped him save his daughter, back when he was still idealistic, giving them a connection. He'd almost forgotten how much loyalty meant to a Turk, and how long their memories were.

"Me of all people? I think you've misjudged me."

Scarlet, Cid, _Shera_ even... no, the various scientific and engineering departments in Shinra were full of foolhardy people that risked their own necks plenty. And like the observer he was, he'd been something of a witness to it. Turks didn't have the monopoly on stupidity, after all.

"Perhaps. I've misjudged allies before."

Reeve could sympathize, and yet... here they were. Turks and AVALANCHE members looking for survivors in his ruined city, the weight of the disaster no more or less if someone was wearing a suit or stained jeans and a tee shirt. He’d been an observer on both sides, and the only thing he’d found was that people were willing to go to extremes for a cause they believed in.

“Veld? Do you think... do you think that maybe you could do something for me?”

It had taken him a solid year to plan out Midgar. What was forming in his head would take just as long. The world needed cities, yes, but more than that, it needed a means to rebuild those cities. More than just a few survivors sorting through the rubble.

“It depends on what that ‘something’ is.”

Reeve couldn’t help but grin a little. “I need you to call in a few favors.”

He was prepared to use his act of benevolence earlier as leverage to get Veld’s help; after all, there were a whole lot of Turks that were supposed to be dead that conveniently showed up when he did. Right when the evacuations were happening, too.

But Veld was nothing if not unpredictable. “Sure. What the hell. I’m retired, after all.”

He already was going over several ideas for how to get the proper funding, now that he had a good source for the people. The only thing that would be an issue was thinking of a name. Reeve was never good at names.

\---

 **1983**

Shera really didn't want to be working yet. And the building was so tall from the outside, and the air inside so dry and cold, like a giant mausoleum. She should have been back at the university working on her thesis, not interviewing at the Shinra Electric Company. If her adviser hadn't so strongly suggested she get some real world experience she might have skipped out entirely.

She'd tried her best to look presentable, borrowing her roommate's shoes and putting on the one shirt she hadn't managed to mess up yet and slacks that were dark enough to hide any stains. But from the look of the woman that was interviewing her, Shera was ill-prepared for what was expected.

"So you almost have a doctorate in Aeronautics?"

Scarlet was her name, and she seemed the sort that more than looked presentable, she was the expert in looking fantastic. Shera couldn't tell if they were the same age or not, but it probably didn’t matter, because women like Scarlet didn’t age. But this was certainly not what she expected when she was told she was going to be interviewed by someone from the Weapons Division.

“Propulsion as a focus, specifically on cryogenic fluid management and its uses with machinery. I’ve been trying to--”

“Easy there,” Scarlet glanced down at her clipboard, “Shera. I didn’t want the full run-down. If you’ve been invited, they already know all that about you.”

She glanced around a bit, suddenly wondering if this was being recorded. It was disheartening that when Shera had finally gotten her resume out there, the only people who wanted to talk with her wanted her for their _weapons_ division. None of the actual aeronautics companies had even given her a phone call.

“Then why are you interviewing me if they already know everything?”

“Because this is going to be my department some day, and I want to know who the competition is.” She smiled with teeth, and Shera got the hint fast.

“Oh, but I don’t want to make weapons, really. I want to make planes faster, maybe even trains or automobiles. I want people to be able to travel all the way across the world in much less time.” She bit off the end of her ramble, the part where she would have gone into how that would maybe even bring the world together, as borders between countries and town and cities would come closer together and maybe eventually overlap.

She’d been reading about how this might be possible with information technologies too, but Shera had always been better with systems that she could take apart and put back together with her own hands. Invisible bits of data were never as exciting as the moment a particular valve finally operated as it should, and the efficiency of an engine went up by 3% and you could really _see_ the difference it made...

“Isn’t that always the problem with you academics, even the engineering ones. So many high-minded principles and no eye on actual application.” Scarlet stood up, and gestured for Shera to do so as well.

Shera marveled at how the woman carried herself. The heels she wore were just an inch tall of modest, but not quite what one would call ‘stripperiffic’. But she moved as if she were taller than even her shoes made her, like the whole world would be squished under her heel if it so displeased her.

“Do you know much about ballistics?”

She’d been paying so much attention to the way that Scarlet walked that she hadn’t realized they were at their destination already. It didn’t look like much; exposed concrete floors and walls, some fences. Lots of burn marks and a couple dummies that had seen better days. It was obvious that it was the weapons test facility.

“I know it deals with shooting bullets?” Shera hadn’t exactly stayed up nights reading weapons manuals, after all.

Scarlet smirked. “On a fundamental level, there is no different between say, internal ballistics and your propulsion research.”

She pulled out a handgun, and took it apart with a speed and familiarity that suggested Scarlet did this quite often. “You have to pay attention to burn time, pressure, and exit speed. The fuel is so quick-burning that it barely qualifies, but the force of the explosion is moreso than what moves a train.”

Scarlet tossed something small and metallic at Shera. The fact that she caught it was no small miracle, considering her eyesight. It was perhaps the largest bullet she’d ever seen when she focused at it up close. Though there was no real basis of comparison for that as she wasn’t accustomed to bullets at all.

“That’s a .50 caliber. Takes a lot of force to lodge that into a person’s spine or rip through their heart.”

Shera felt as if she might get sick. She was probably noticeably pale at this point. Maybe this was just how Scarlet figured out the people she was going to be working with. She’d seen plenty of male posturing in school; maybe she was in the female equivalent of that.

“And you want me to be figuring out how to make it faster?”

Scarlet smirked. “Oh no, someone of your qualifications? I wouldn’t dream to ask you to stoop to simply making a better rifle.”

She swallowed the urge to ask if she was going to blow anyone up. Because she really hoped she wasn’t.

“Then... what do you need?”

“ _Shinra_ needs a projectile weapon that can take out bigger groups of troops at once. _I_ simply need you to do your job and keep to your mousy self.” Scarlet punctuated the word ‘mousy’ with a tap on Shera’s nose. It made her want to sneeze.

“A projectile weapon... I suppose...”

But Scarlet was already sashaying out of the room. “Feel free to use whatever you find in here. I’d like to see plans by next week and a first prototype by the end of the month.”

Even as she was dismissing her, Shera couldn’t help but like Scarlet, if only a little bit.

\---

 **2000**

“The World Regenesis Organization.”

It had taken most of a year to get to the point where it could be called an organization. Most of that year had been spent looking for bodies; no matter how much he had wanted it, there was just too much destruction in Midgar to make it liveable. Too many ghosts, and the mako leaks...

“Huh? What did you say, Cid?”

Reeve had to admit it was odd working with people face to face again. Barret and Cid had been the most enthusiastic out of the former AVALANCHE about his project, and it was particularly useful having an airship at his disposal. But Cid had made it clear that he was only working with him for the greater good, no ‘personal fucking favors’.

“I said you should call it the World Regenesis Organization. Genesis is about new life and shit. Don’t you read?”

What Reeve remembered about Cid Highwind’s old Shinra file, the one that he’d read before infiltrating the group, was that it painted a picture of wildly talented but wholly uneducated man, obsessed with his own failure and unable to work with anyone that disagreed with him. But actually working with Cid on something constructive had proven that file to be somewhat fuzzy broad strokes, not really capturing the full dimension of the man. It also failed to mention how damned likable he was, despite his numerous flaws.

“It makes a nice acronym. I’ll make a note of that.”

“Alright, now let’s get to why I’m really here. And don’t start with the damn political mumbo jumbo until I’m finished.”

Reeve had forgone an actual office in favor of a modest place not unlike most of the dwellings in Edge; made of salvaged materials and containing mismatched furniture, an amalgam of old and new held together with sheer force of will and bubblegum. Cid had commented at length about the structural stability of the place, but Reeve didn’t want to put himself further ahead or above anyone else. _No more heartless empires._

Cid paced. “I need crews. More crews. There’s a hell of a lot more to rebuilding than cleaning up dead bodies.”

Reeve nodded. “Of course.”

“I said no talking until I’m done! Some of my crew have been gettin the fucking _creeps_ lately while looking in some areas of Midgar. Like there’s a damn boogie man around. I think they need to be armed, to protect themselves.”

Reeve sighed. The last thing the world needed was another army and yet... Wutai certainly wasn’t expanding as an empire, and it had one. It was thriving and extremely isolationist, but thriving nonetheless.

“So I think I found someone that can help with that. She’s got a lot of ideas and shit.”

Reeve wasn’t surprised to find that Cid didn’t readily volunteer himself for the task of military advisor, but he was a little surprised to hear _she_. He tried to go through his mental file of women that Cid Highwind knew well enough to suggest as an advisor, and none of them made sense, frankly.

“Eh Shalua, c’mon in.”

He was immediately taken with her arm, of all things to focus on. Reeve wanted to chock it up to all his time spent with robotics and AI, but perhaps it was just as much the fact that she didn’t hide a thing about her enhancements. The way she dressed was suggestive in a way that was meant to be unsettling; it begged the question of whether she was more machine than woman, and the implications therein. No eyepatch, but her eye was closed with a finality that suggested it was missing.

That arm was truly quite a work of art.

“My eye is up here, Mr. Tuesti.”

Reeve was always hopeless with intelligent women. It was one of the things that he and Cid shared, oddly enough, as he’d discovered in their post-Meteor dealings. Though Cid seemed to go for the kind that still had a conscience; if Reeve’s history had anything to indicate he didn’t always check for a heart to go with that mind.

 _How can you still be so naive to think that your cities won’t spawn monsters of their own?_

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help but admire your arm. Who made it?”

She glanced over at Cid, who was most definitely not paying attention to her _arm_ and he quickly looked away. Reeve didn’t have to guess how she’d caught the good Captain Highwind’s eye.

“I did. Also made this.”

It was a nice gun she held up. Though someone he once knew would say it was a little conservative, considering her obvious mechanical skill. Of course, maybe he needed to start using some security, considering she was the second person that week who he didn’t already know that got into his office without any issue.

Was the paranoia of the Turks rubbing off on him?

“So you make weapons and limbs. Interesting combination.”

She smirked. “Only as creators can we destroy, isn’t that how it goes?”

Shalua was starting to unnerve him. Or something like that. He just wanted to sit and pick her brain for a couple hours, find out just how much of her was machine. Hell, Cid could come too, if he was bored. It wasn’t like he was stupid, after all.

There was something in her posture so _familiar_ but it refused to completely solidify with his mental catalog of people and memories, so he stopped searching within them. Query not found.

“I guess that’s a way of putting it. So why do you want to work with the WRO?” The acronym tumbled naturally from his lips, it fit well. Cid did have a knack for these kinds of things.

“Does my reason even matter to you?”

A quick glance over to Cid confirmed that he’d asked the same question, and had gotten little in the way of an answer. Well. She’d open up eventually. It wasn’t as if people sorting through the wreckage turned to each other and asked, ‘hey you, why did you survive, and not someone else?’

\---

 **1984**

Scarlet had lied about the product cycle.

Shinra demanded a constant turnout from its research departments, but not to the level that Scarlet had lead her to believe during her first month working. In fact, when she’d turned around some sketches for the weapon, and had nearly been laughed out of the other woman’s office.

Shera didn’t even like those plans anyway, she was never one for doing anything imprecise or messy. Her work was thorough and careful. No mistakes.

It had taken the better part of a year to get a working prototype; the political situation in the company, or so Scarlet had told her, was keenly shifted towards human improvements. And certain departments, like the Turks, seemed to get by on a shoestring budget and a couple handguns without much issue.

So there was adequate pressure for both her and Scarlet to roll out prototypes which would swing the board back in their favor. It gave Shera more of a headache than her academic advisor telling her that he wouldn’t even consider her thesis until she’d worked at least another year with the company.

“Scarlet?”

She knocked lightly on her office door. While Shera had been engaged in working on what one of her few techs had dubbed a ‘rocket launcher’--no matter how completely inaccurate calling it that was--Scarlet had been making progress on a rifle that was meant to make the Shinra MPs more accurate. Shera could tell that the project wasn’t exactly Scarlet’s favorite.

“What is it now?”

They both pulled long nights; even a year to do this kind of product cycle was its own measure of insane. Shera had lost count of the number of times that she was leaving her corner of the weapons lab to go home around 2 am only to see that the light in Scarlet’s office was still on. And until now, she hadn’t felt _right_ intruding upon that space, no matter how unpleasant Scarlet could be at times, Shera wasn’t going to be _rude_.

“I just finished the machining on the prototype, if you wanted to be the first person to see it.”

Shera adjusted her glasses and for the first time took in Scarlet’s office. Had she ever really been inside before? Now that she thought about it, her interview had been done in one of the lounges and Scarlet’s door was always closed.

“Give me a half hour.”

Scarlet’s office wasn’t very impressive and clashed with how stylish the woman normally was. Then again, Shera was finding out just how low on the totem pole the both of them were, despite how much Scarlet’s obvious ambition made it seem like she already had the power she sought. It was no better than a supply closet in some ways, with Scarlet’s desk--a simple table really--jammed into a corner.

And within the office, even Scarlet herself was a little less polished. Her spike heels rested on a shelf with some boxes labeled ‘scrap’ while she wore much more appropriate steel-toed boots. Custom red ones. She had put a safety coat over was was likely another of her fabulous red dresses and goggles rested on the top of her perfectly styled hair, where they had been put when Shera had entered the office.

“Is that all?” Scarlet asked irritatedly, and Shera realized she’d been staring.

“Yes, sorry.” She hustled to the door, but stopped when she noticed something, well surprising.

“...Is this a picture of Doctor Lucrecia Crescent?”

Scarlet looked up from the Materia assembly she’d been poking at, and almost _smiled_.

“You know her work?”

Shera nodded. “Actually, she came and talked at my elementary school once with that one guy she worked with who dressed ridiculously.”

“You mean Doctor Valentine.”

“Yeah. I think she was the first person that mentioned something scientific as a viable career option. My dad wanted me to be a teacher.”

“Children would eat you alive, Shera.”

“I know.”

Lucrecia Crescent. She’d been a hero of sorts, despite her disappearance and much of the scientific community considering her something of a whackjob. Shera had gotten ahold of what little of hers had been published when she had first started college. It had been a little thick, admittedly, and Shera wasn’t particularly fond of those aspects of chemistry. But still, it had given her chills.

“I found that in a box of junk when I was first working here. Did you know that she was one of the founders of the science research department in this company? Before that it was strict manufacture. Of course, you’ll never hear the current department admit that.”

Shera didn’t know that. And from the slight glint in Scarlet’s eye, she got the sense that Lucrecia had been a hero of sorts for her too. How strange that they could be so different and yet look up to the same woman.

“Tragic how she disappeared like that.”

“Well, that happens a lot around here.” Scarlet never was the sort to sugarcoat.

“Oh. Maybe someone will be able to prove her theories someday at least.”

Scarlet got up from her seat to stand next to Shera. Didn’t take long considering how small the room was. Shera noticed that her nails were chipping badly when she tapped the picture with one of them.

“You should be careful, Shera. You don’t want to end up like that, you know.” The way Scarlet said it was in no way comforting or kind. But no one would ever think that of her. Brilliant, ambitious, and dangerous, yes. Not much room for kindness in an arsenal like that.

Shera hoped that she wouldn’t have to spend too many years in this department. Even standing in such close proximity to Scarlet and seeing that for all the powerplay and manufactured persona she was still a real person under there, Shera didn’t want to erase what had brought her here in the first place.

Someday, someday. She was going to really _help_ someone. No matter how beautiful and terrifying the woman closest to her now was. There were always different ways to solve a problem.

“You should be careful too, Scarlet.”

Scarlet planted a kiss on her forehead as if it were some kind of mentorly or parental perversion. It made Shera’s pulse quicken more than she would have liked it too.

“I don’t need anyone to look out for me.”

\---

 **2001**

“What are you drawing?”

Reeve looked up, wondering just how Shalua always managed to get past the slight increase in security provisions he’d taken in the past year since he’d gotten the intelligence about strange Sephirothian clones slinking about Edge.

He looked beyond her, and Tseng poked his head into the room and shrugged. He really needed to have a talk with him about what freelancing really meant. Why even come around at all?

“Just ideas.”

“Looks like a block diagram. New toy?”

It had been over a year since they’d met and he still couldn’t gauge her moods. She never came at things directly, instead making small talk before hitting him over the head with a demand. It was like a pleasantly unpleasant parody of the past, only with less sex and more wodplay.

“It’s a city.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Oh, now I see it.”

Did Shalua want access to files that he wasn’t sure that he wanted to find? Reeve was nervous about probing too deeply into the old secrets of a dead corporation, but there was also a need to learn history so that it wouldn’t be repeated.

It made his head spin about as much as she did.

“People can’t live in Edge forever. It’s not exactly a _place_ , you know.”

He’d always regretted that he’d been just a little too young, too green to keep the Plate project from happening. Reeve had been around to see the construction start, confined to working with the reactors and figuring out the minimum margin of space that people could live near them.

“I want more security access.” And there it was.

“The WRO is about transparency, but I don’t think that’s what you’re getting at.”

She frowned at him and he noticed that she’d added some orange to her false arm. Stylish.

Shalua picked the drawing off his desk, fingering the lines with her human hand. “What were you searching for a couple years ago, in the wreckage of Midgar?”

So she wasn’t going to tell him. Of course. What was with him and people who only ever showed half of their faces?

“My city.” _And the people that once resided in it, even if they had merely become shells with their faces in the end._

“I think that’s why I like working with you, Reeve. You understand the refuge of the inorganic and how easy it is to hide there.”

One day Reeve was going to be smarter. Tougher. One day, he wasn’t going to fight with himself over which side to stand on and he wasn’t going to keep falling for the hard cause.

“One security level. Please stay out of trouble.”

Maybe tomorrow he could do that. But today he was just going to watch her sashay out of his office with her WRO safety coat and further into her obsessions--whatever or whoever that was. At least he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he was going to save her from it.

Or that she even wanted or needed to be saved.

\---

 **1989**

Six years. It had taken her six whole years to finally get to do what she really wanted to.

Shera had been standing outside of Scarlet’s office--no longer a closet , but still somewhat small--for no less than fifteen minutes. It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t like she was waiting for the perfect moment to gloat.

She didn’t really know what she was waiting for, really.

The door opened before she could really decide what it was. “I’ll certainly look forward to seeing those plans.”

Shera had never met the man that Scarlet was leaving her office with, but she knew him in the way that her type of scientist-engineer could tell their own. His general posture and demeanor could be mistaken for shy by those outside of their type, but Shera knew immediately that it was the disconnect. While others had only seen her patiently welding or spending an entire afternoon selecting the threading of a screw, she was flying across the countryside propelled by the engines of dreams within her own mind.

If it had been another time, she might have asked where he went when no one was watching.

“Thank you for your time, Scarlet.”

And Shera knew that glint in Scarlet’s eye, because it used to be directed at her. Mismatched times, mismatched people, mismatched opportunities; maybe the past six years had been one boring dream.

Scarlet’s hand lingered on the young man’s elbow for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and he seemed a bit flustered by it as he walked off.

“His name is Reeve. From Urban Planning.”

“Ah. Nice.” Shera didn’t really need to know as much as Scarlet apparently needed her to know his name.

“So why are you skulking outside my office.”

They’d talked before, mostly about work. Six years in the same department, and never quite friends, but never exactly rivals. This seemed to be a pretty common occurrence in Shinra, which had been thinking about people as resources since before even the discovery of Mako energy.

“I...”

Didn’t Scarlet see that the trajectory she was taking would surely destroy her eventually? Shera could at least admit that she cared enough. It was why she had to get out of weapons. Too many nights spent wondering who didn’t come home because of her rocket launcher.

Shera cleared her throat. “I’m leaving. I’m joining the new Space Deparment.”

If it had been anyone but Scarlet, Shera would have thought that look was almost sadness.

“That group of idiots trying to launch a rocket? Surely you’re more intelligent than _that._ ”

“They’re not idiots. Captain Highwind is especially intelligent.”

Scarlet smiled, as if she’d caught a chocobo with nothing but a piece of string and some chewing gum. “ _Captain_ Highwind, is it? Isn’t he a little young for you?”

 _Isn’t Reeve a little young for you?_ “You know, not everything is about sex. Sometimes it’s about--”

“Spare me. I really didn’t think you were the type to derail your career on account of a man.”

Any good response died in Shera’s throat. How could she explains dreams to someone that had clearly sold theirs for power?

Scarlet tapped a perfectly polished nail on the doorframe, and Shera knew that the conversation had to end soon.

“I just wanted to say goodbye.” _And thanks for showing me what I didn’t want to become._

“Enjoy your department of fools, and _good luck._ ”

Shera told herself she wasn’t going to look back. Not because she was worried she would miss the place, but because she had to hold onto the image of Scarlet’s disapproval, Scarlet’s assumptions. If she thought of her as she once was there was no way that Shera would be able to handle what would inevitably happen to her.

And the Captain was waiting.


	2. Appendix: Timeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering what timeline I was operating under, here it is.

1934: Hojo Born  
1936: Veld Born  
1938: Lucrecia Born  
1940: Vincent Born  
1957: Shera Born  
1957: Scarlet Born  
1962: Reeve Born  
1962: Cid Born  
1967: Jenova Project  
1976: Shalua Born  
1976: Scarlet Begins Working For Shinra  
1983: Shera Begins Working For Shinra  
1987: Reeve Begins Working For Shinra  
1989: Space Program Forms  
1997: Events of Game Begin  
1999: Meteorfall  
2000: WRO Concieved  
2001: Advent Children Shenanigans


End file.
